Monday, 2 August 2010
Before I met her I’d been playing with the idea of moving. I’d lived in Austin ten years and felt that my time there was coming to an end. I felt as though there was part of me that I’d let die there, chasing paychecks, trying to survive. I’d wanted to write when I was younger. I’d written a small book when I was 21, after my life had fallen apart around me. Nothing ever happened with the book, and the grind of work and making ends meet eventually took over - life. I’d recently started writing again after my second divorce at the age of 34, a year earlier, and had begun thinking about leaving town, re-inventing myself, worried that I’d end up a clichéd bitter old tattooed bartender in a punk bar in Austin, drinking away the days.